“Then stop waiting.”
He did.
The kiss was gentle at first, tentative. Then it deepened, becoming certain and real.
When they finally pulled apart, Vivienne felt the connection between them stronger than ever. Not just the bond forged in crisis, but something new. Something chosen.
“So,” Brooks said. “I guess we’re doing this.”
“Apparently.” Vivienne laughed. “Dawn’s going to be insufferable. She’s been telling me for weeks that I should just kiss you already.”
“Smart woman, your cousin.”
The kettle whistled. Vivienne stood to make tea, aware of Brooks watching her. Not just attraction or partnership, but real affection.
They drank their tea as the sun rose, talking about everything and nothing. Making plans for dinner that wasn’t work-related. Discussing whether Brooks should finally move out of his rental cottage.
“I should go home and sleep,” Brooks said eventually. “Sullivan wants a full report by noon.”
“Or you could stay.” Vivienne surprised herself. “Sleep here. The couch is still made up from last time.”
“You sure?”
“I’m sure.”
He stayed.
And later, after Brooks had fallen asleep on her couch and Vivienne had retreated to her bedroom, she pulled out her mother’s journal one more time.
When your anchor comes—and he will come—let him stay. Let him see you fully. Let him ground you when the voices grow too loud. This is the secret the Hawthorne women learned too late: we are strongest not alone, but together.
Vivienne touched the words, feeling her mother’s presence.
“I’m letting him stay, Mama,” she whispered. “I’m not making your mistake.”
Outside her window, the lighthouse stood silent against the dawn. No longer haunted. No longer holding secrets.
Inside The Mystic Cup, a medium and a detective began building something new—a partnership that honored both their gifts, a relationship that acknowledged their fears while choosing courage, a future where neither had to face the darkness alone.
Whatever came next—and Vivienne’s gifts told her there would be more mysteries, more cases, more spirits seeking justice—they would face it together.
epilogue
Three monthsafter Winston Aldrich’s arrest, the bell above The Mystic Cup’s door chimed, and Melissa Clarkson walked in.
Vivienne looked up from the tarot spread she was studying and smiled. “Melissa. It’s good to see you.”
“I hope I’m not interrupting.” Melissa glanced around the shop—at the shelves of crystals and herbs, the reading table by the window, the familiar comfort of the space. “I know I should have called first, but I was in town and thought . . . well, I thought maybe you’d have time for a reading?”
“For you? Always.” Vivienne gestured to the chair across from her. “Please, sit.”
Dawn emerged from the back room with two cups of tea, as if she’d known Melissa was coming. She probably had. Dawn’s intuition was uncanny, even without Vivienne’s gifts. She set the cups down with a warm smile and retreated, giving them privacy.
Melissa settled into the chair, wrapping her hands around the tea. She’d lost weight since the kidnapping, her frame almost fragile in jeans and a sweater. But her eyes were clear. Healing, even if the scars ran deep.
“How are you doing?” Vivienne asked. “Really?”
“Some days are better than others.” Melissa took a sip of tea. “The divorce was finalized last week. Daniel’s serving fifteen to twenty years, thanks to his guilty plea and cooperation with federal prosecutors.” She paused. “The therapist says it’s normal to have trust issues after your husband sells you out to people who kidnap and torture you. Who knew?”
